What would he do if hewasn’tJulien Dubois?
Julien types his own name into image search and picks out the most flattering photo from the front page. Most of the pictures have either Thomas or Rafael in them, but with a bit of cropping, he makes something resembling a profile picture.
When it finally uploads, it’s a shock to see his real face on the stream. The professional photo is far better quality than the grainy video the other guys stream with, but, for the first time, Julien’s face is right there amongst his friends.
He hadn’t noticed how othered it felt to only have his shitty graphic as a placeholder. Now it’s actually him—it’shisface racing under the Romeo tag.
A rose by any other name,or whatever.
When the image refreshes for the others, they all cackle at once.
“Hey, don’t laugh at my face.” Julien can’t hide the smile in his voice. “My very real, actual face.” Okay, now he’s laughing too.
“Romeo Dubois!”
“The third Dubois brother.”
There’s already three, but Julien has no idea if that’s common knowledge or not. Whatshouldbe common knowledge is— “It’s du-bwah, not du-boys.”
“I thought it was Du-bwah-wah-wah.”
“No, it’s Du-boi-yoi-yoing.”
“Du-Boise, Idaho.”
“All of you suck.”
JAPANESE GRAND PRIX
SUZUKA, JAPAN
Media day in Suzuka,and Julien's eyes wander over crowds of red as he searches for Rafael. He can’t spot the Brazilian in hospitality, in the garage, or in their shared driver’s room. Not a single arm sling in the entire paddock.
It isn’t until everyone is gathering for the meeting that he hears, “Hey, Julien.”
Julien turns in the hallway and jumps, startled. “You’re not wearing your brace?”
Team members pass the duo, filing into the cramped meeting room as Rafael shows off both of his palms.
“I don’t have to anymore.”
Julien had been with the team for years, but he’s only ever interacted with Rafael since the accident. It’s uncanny, almost, to seehisRafael unencumbered.
It almost feels like the man will go right back to ignoring him. That he’ll stare down at Julien from his pedestal again.
Disappointing.
“Relax, I can’t drive yet. You’re still racing this weekend.”
“Right.”
Rafael might not be able to drive, but his unburdened arm is a reminder that they’re another step closer to the day they won’t have this weird bond anymore. Also?—
“Your arm looks weird. Skinnier.”
“Skinnier?!”Rafael lifts his arm, muscle memory snapping the limb back into place. At this angle, his bicep bulges, pressed tightly against the meat of his pec. “I thought you’d be excited. I can do more with two arms.”
Julien trails his finger lightly down the muscle usually covered in straps of fabric. “But you look good tied up.”
